User Reviews

In recent years we have seen a number of Hollywood remakes of classic British crime films, such as 'Get Carter', 'The Italian Job' and, most recently, 'The Ladykillers', a phenomenon that has aroused some critical comment, especially in Britain. This film shows that, nearly thirty years ago, this same phenomenon was happening in reverse, and the British were remaking classic American crime movies.

The plot broadly follows that of the 1946 film, with the striking exception that the action takes place in London rather than Los Angeles. This does not, however, mean that the original has been completely anglicised. Both Philip Marlowe and General Sternwood are American expatriates living in London rather than Englishmen, and they are played by two of Hollywood's biggest stars, Robert Mitchum and James Stewart. With the exception of Richard Boone as Canino and Candy Clark as Sternwood's younger daughter, the other main parts are all played by British actors.

The film was clearly made as homage to the famous Humphrey Bogart classic, and it is inevitable that comparisons will be made between the two. In some respects, in fact, the later film is superior to, or at least as good as, the earlier one. (I have not read Raymond Chandler's novel, so I cannot say which film is closer to the original source material). The 1946 film is a fine one, but it is not perfect and has a number of weaknesses, not least its insanely complicated plot containing threads that are never developed and events that are never explained. The plot of the 1978 film, while complex enough, is somewhat easier to follow than that of its predecessor. To the purist Bogart fan there can be no substitute for the original, but to anyone else Robert Mitchum, himself a fine exponent of the film noir style during the early part of his career in the forties and fifties, seems like the best possible replacement. He is, of course, older than Bogart was when he played the role, and his portrayal of the character is perhaps less cynical and more thoughtful, but it is a perfectly acceptable interpretation. There are also good performances from Stewart in the cameo role of Sternwood, from Oliver Reed and from Joan Collins.

As a whole, however, the film does not live up to the standard of the original. Certainly, not all the actors are as good as their 1946 counterparts (Sarah Miles, for example, is no Lauren Bacall), but the main reason for its comparative failure goes deeper. The Bogart movie is perhaps the quintessential film noir, a film that one watches less for its plot, or even for its acting, than for its unique atmosphere of cynicism, menace and dubious glamour. An important factor in creating that atmosphere is its dark, brooding black-and-white photography. Unfortunately, in the late seventies the use of black-and-white was generally regarded as the equivalent of hanging a sign on the cinema door saying 'Warning! Art-house Movie! Intellectuals Only!' A few established auteur directors such as Woody Allen ('Manhattan') and Martin Scorsese ('Raging Bull') could get away with using monochrome, but there was no way that the studio would allow such latitude to Michael Winner, a director generally associated with violent commercial thrillers. So colour it had to be. In fact, the photography of London and the English countryside is quite attractive, but it is no substitute for the authentic film noir look.

I mentioned that the atmosphere of the earlier film was also one of dubious glamour; besides Bacall it has a large number of other strikingly beautiful but sinister women (some of them only in minor roles). The later film cannot compete in this respect. With the exception of Joan Collins (who could do sultry but sinister glamour in spades, even in her mid-forties), none of the female characters has the required touch of the femme fatale about her.

As a London-based crime thriller, Winner's 'The Big Sleep' is not a bad film; it is better than most of its director's other thrillers and better than a lot of other British films from the seventies. As homage to its namesake, however, it falls some way short of its aims. 6/10

Most people would probably run a mile at the thought of Michael Winner getting his hands on the rights to film Raymond Chandler's masterpiece novel 'The Big Sleep'; but personally, I was rather excited at the prospect. Michael Winner may not be a great director; but his films generally turn out to be entertaining in spite of not being brilliant, and with a story as strong as this one; I felt confident that The Big Sleep would be a good film. However, as it turns out; this film is not as good as it could have been. The story focuses on private investigator Philip Marlowe. He is hired by an old man who goes by the name of General Sternwood to investigate a case of blackmail against one of his daughters. After meeting the daughters and some of the other main players involved, our hero soon comes to the conclusion that the blackmail doesn't really constitute a threat and becomes suspicious; leading to him thinking that everything seems to be more connected with the disappearance of the man's son in law, and decides to investigate that instead.

For one reason or another, Michael Winner has decided to move things over to England; although the lead man remains American. This change in location has not really had an effect on the story; but it did leave Winner free to recruit an excellent roster of British stars. Among the names in the cast list are Oliver Reed, John Mills, Joan Collins, Richard Boone and Edward Fox. The film is lead by Robert Mitchum, who while not as great as Humphrey Bogart, still makes an excellent leading man and there's also enough room in the cast for an aging James Stewart. The film is a lot shorter than the earlier version of this story and Winner has really trimmed things down a lot, which means that the story is much more straight forward than it was in the 1946 film. This is not really a bad thing as it does mean that the film is easier to follow; although it also seems less expansive. The characters take something of a backseat too, with only the lead character getting any real development. Still, this is at least an entertaining thriller and I don't feel like I wasted my time watching it; although Howard Hawks' version is better.

Raymond Chandler's plots can drive you crazy. The most admirable thing about Chandler's stories is his language ("hard boiled") and the way he uses it to evoke a Los Angeles of the 30s and 40s that is so infected with corruption that, like a ripe pustule, we expect it to pop momentarily.

And that's what makes it so difficult to transfer his works to the screen. You almost have to have a voice-over from Philip Marlowe otherwise you not only get lost in the various plot twists but you miss the adamantly low-brow tropes -- "her hair was the color of gold in old paintings," or, "she threw me a glance I could feel in my hip pocket." "Chinatown," set in 1937 LA, was released to great critical and public acclaim in 1974. The very next year, Robert Mitchum tackled Philip Marlowe in "Farewell, My Lovely" and he was great, and so was the production, even if it was not the masterpiece that "Chinatown" was. Nobody will ever make a masterpiece out of a Chandler story because, after all, a masterpiece usually starts out with a coherent plot.

So the trick is to capture on screen what Chandler's prose evokes on the written page. Style is everything. "Farewell My Lovely" had it. "The Big Sleep," alas, doesn't. The director hasn't really done much to help things. In the 1946 version of "The Big Sleep," Howard Hawks at least had some fun with the characters. (Bogart and the horn-rimmed glasses in the book shop.) Hawks also allowed some humor in the dialog. ("She tried to sit in my lap while I was standing up.") Philip Marlowe with his resolutely seedy presence belongs in the marginal zone of Los Angeles, not in the uptrodden neighborhoods of London. He belongs in a trench coat, wearing an older fedora, not in the powder blue suits of Saville Row. ("I own a hat and a coat and a gun," he tells Nulty in "Farewell My Lovely," "and everything I touch turns to s***.") In this film we have to put up with a confident and compassionate Marlowe, striding through the fancy decor instead of slouching, never touching a drop of alcohol. And Mitchum doesn't add much to the story besides his usual heft. As James Agee once said of him, his casual languor suggests Bing Crosby supersaturated on barbiturates.

That reminds me. I couldn't help wondering, while I watched this, how much booze had gone into the production. I forget whether Chandler had quit drinking by the time he wrote this, but Mitchum himself was hardly an amateur. Olivier had kicked Cyril Cusack out of the Old Vic for showing up drunk for a performance of "Doctor's Dilemma" and reciting lines from another of Shaw's plays. Richard Boone was evidently immobilized during his last few years and Oliver Reed died of drink.

Still, look at the actors in this thing. In support are Edward Fox, Harry Andrews, James Donald, Colin Blakely, James Stewart, and Richard Todd. And all of them are up to the task, true professionals, with not a hollow note struck. I'm tempted to call the cast "peerless" but I don't know if it's permitted if there's a theatrical knight among them. Richard Boone is outstanding as Canino -- a villainous wreck, hobbling about on a broken foot, cackling over his own sliminess, howling with unrestrained glee as he watches a harmless little man whom he has just poisoned crash through a glass door and die.

Also notable are the locations and the art direction. It may not be sleazy Los Angeles in 1941 but London and its interiors look just fine. London has never looked less grimy. There is no rain or fog, the streets are clean, narrow and lined with classy book shops, and people tend to drive new and expensive cars.

Well, the movie is done with dash and style, no doubt about that. But it's the wrong style. Marlowe belongs in the 1940s. In the 1940s pornography and dope could get you serious jail time -- just ask Mitchum.

I didn't much care for it the first time I saw this. The second time was easier going because I'd lowered the bar of my expectation.

In a lot of ways, "The Big Sleep" must have seemed tailor-made for a remake in 1978. The first movie version, while justly famed for the chemistry between Bogie and Bacall, really didn't come close to doing justice to Raymond Chandler's original novel. A lot of that had to do with the fact that Hollywood in 1946 just couldn't show a lot of the things that Chandler did in his 1939 novel. The nudity, the drugs, the pornography, the homosexuality were all a little too strong for a mainstream movie of that time.

In addition, Chandler's convoluted plot (originally derived from two or three separate short stories) didn't offer an easy screen translation, even before all the "juicy parts" were excised.

So this must have seemed like a great idea. Robert Mitchum had successfully played Philip Marlowe a few years earlier in "Farewell, My Lovely", and the MPAA ratings system meant that they could be as explicit as they wanted; the filmmakers could be more faithful to Chandler's novel *and* show us Candy Clark nude! How could we go wrong?

In lots of ways, unfortunately. First up, Mitchum didn't seem to fit the role of Marlowe nearly as well in this movie as he did in "Farewell, My Lovely". This makes me suspect that the earlier story was more deftly tailored to Mitchum's age and acting style, with lots of references to how old and tired Marlowe feels. In this case, the script sticks very closely -- basically scene-by-scene, almost line-by-line -- to the original novel, but Mitchum doesn't fit the part as well, somehow. In the book, Marlowe was very much "in your face", giving a hard time to everyone from the cops to Eddie Mars to the Sternwood girls. That means that in this movie, Mitchum's nonchalant style doesn't fit with many of the scenes he has to play. Bogart was "nonchalant" too, I guess, but in a different way. Bogie's tough guys would feign casualness, but they always seemed like they were waiting for the other guy to start something, and when Bogart dug in and got to work, he took it seriously. Mitchum just seems like he couldn't care less one way or the other. It doesn't work for this story, where the second half is driven by Marlowe's desire to find out the truth even when he isn't being paid to do so.

The move from L.A. to London didn't bother me at all. It made an interesting, coincidental "bridge" between the classic films noir and more recent movies about London gangs like "Snatch".

But the deepest problem with this film is that while it follows the externals of Chandler's novel much more closely in terms of the plot and (most of) the dialogue, it fails utterly to capture the real heart and soul of the novel. Of course, the earlier movie version did, too -- this novel may well be unfilmable -- but at least it had Bogie and Bacall. This one has Mitchum and Miles. And Candy Clark nude. And not much else.

Take a look at the beginning of the movie. The second scene, where Marlowe visits General Sternwood in the greenhouse, is probably one of the classics of 20th century popular literature. Few other novels begin with a scene which so completely evoke their characters, and atmosphere, as Marlowe sweats, gags on the scent of orchids, and converses with a tired, bitter, old, rich man clinging to his miserable life. Chandler is hitting you hard with every trick in his bag, and his timing, dialogue and characterization are flawless. Howard Hawks' screenwriters were smart enough to leave much of his original dialogue in this scene. By contrast, in the Mitchum film, scene after scene features lines taken verbatim from the novel, but for some reason, they chose to leave out some of the best: "How do you like your brandy, sir?" "Any way at all." or the all-time classic, "A nice state of affairs when a man has to indulge his vices by proxy". If the screenwriters chose to leave in lines about Pekineses and loogans, how could they possibly leave these ones out?

Maybe they thought that such lines wouldn't sound right coming out of James Stewart -- they were probably right -- but that just shows what an inept choice he was for this part. General Sternwood is supposed to be incredibly bitter, yet we're given a typical Stewart performance; he almost looks perky, certainly not broken by life. He looks physically weak but hardly seems cynical or jaded enough to have produced two such screwed-up daughters. It wasn't even made clear why he was sitting out in the greenhouse, and Marlowe doesn't seem particularly uncomfortable while he's out there (although a later reference to Rusty Regan "sweating like a pig" is left in). It's just a mess, and does nothing at all to set us up for what follows.

To cite one further example, another key scene manages to miss the point completely while still following Chandler's plot closely. The scene where Harry Jones finally approaches Marlowe in Marlowe's office is the turning point of the entire novel. The case is closed, Marlowe is literally signing the check to deposit it, and Jones walks in with the exact piece of information Marlowe's been missing the entire time. Like so many scenes in the novel, this one is simply brilliant, overflowing with great dialogue ("She's too big for you"), and in some ways tying together the entire story. Yet after following most of the scene very closely, the script inexplicably stops short of some of Chandler's best writing:

"'This Regan was a cockeyed sort of buzzard. He had long-range eyes. He was looking over into the next valley all the time. He wasn't scarcely around where he was. I don't think he gave a damn about dough. And coming from me, brother, that's a compliment.'

"The little man wasn't so dumb after all. A three for a quarter grifter wouldn't even think such thoughts, much less know how to express them."

The filmmakers may have closely followed the plot of the original novel in this version, but the fact that they could leave out writing like this, while clinging almost religiously to most of the rest of the book, shows that they couldn't have been more clueless about the real "core" of Chandler's writing. Alas, it appears that we are still waiting for the definitive movie version; this one manages to reduce "The Big Sleep" to a barely-above-average TV movie-of-the-week with Candy Clark, nude.

While I haven't read the novel upon which 'The Big Sleep' is based, I have seen the Bogart version. I really love the original. Bogie-Bacall - what's not to love? However, that version does suffer from Hays Code puritanism that robbed the edge from much of human desires and sexual foibles that obviously suppressed some of the underlying desires and sexual motives.

That's where the 1978 version excels - and fails. Let's start with the fails. In the original, the scenes in the bookshops near the beginning rule with Bogie's use of humour and the electric suggested tryst with Dorothy Malone's character. Sometimes the suggestion can be erotic enough. Perhaps that's why this version skips the fun and the implied sex for another more mundane approach.

The other fail is the atmosphere. This version lacks any. The original's shadows and textures evoked each scene and created moods. This version lacks any specific mood to instead tell a story in almost a heightened reality. The direction does the same, relying on straight-ahead narrative more like a TV movie than a theatrical film.

There's so much more here that succeeds. Despite his age, Mitchum is a fine Marlow, more cynical and world-weary than Bogart's version. The script is sharp, full of humour and wry observations. The biggest improvement is the depiction of sex. Freed of the tyranny of the forties' censorship, scenes like Carmen naked and stoned are much more realistic and make a more satisfying treatment, even if the innuendo is not as predominant.

OK, it's not the classic it could've been. It's still a decent flick to rent or watch on cable. Marlowe is solid, Candy Clark is wonderfully loony, Joan Collins is pure kitsch, Richard Boone plays the essence of evil. It's good to see James Stewart, even if his gentle disposition doesn't quite match the demeanour of a General. The supporting cast are almost uniformly intriguing and fun to watch. And what a cast!

The Big Sleep may be no masterpiece but it is great fun. Relax your expectations and enjoy it for what is - fine entertainment.

This version of The Big Sleep is the classic reason why you don't remake a classic. Funny thing is that Robert Mitchum got deserved plaudits for what he did in remaking Farewell My Lovely a few years earlier.

As Monk would say, here's the thing. A masterful job was done in keeping the story within it's 1940s milieu. Except for some things that couldn't be in the film because of the Code and the color photography, Farewell My Lovely could have been shot side by side with the Dick Powell Murder My Sweet. Raymond Chandler's noir world of the forties was recreated brilliantly.

So who was the genius who thought to age Marlowe thirty years and bring him into the swinging seventies of London? Sherlock Holmes was brought to Washington, DC for a war time propaganda piece to the dismay of all Holmes purists. Chandler purists were similarly affronted here.

Sad because a really great cast was wasted in this. One thing I'm sure the audience must have felt is how the American expatriate general played by James Stewart could have one English accented daughter in Sarah Miles and an American accented one in Candy Clark? I'm still scratching my head over that one. English gangster/gambler Oliver Reed employs an American hit man on retainer in Richard Boone. Another puzzle.

It was nice however to see Robert Mitchum and James Stewart in the one and only film they made together. Stewart's only scenes in the film are with Mitchum and when the two Hollywood icons died in successive days in 1997 clips from The Big Sleep were running for a week.

I don't need to give any plot details for those who've seen the fabulous Humphrey Bogart-Lauren Bacall version. If you want to stargaze, watch this film, if you want to see some classic performances don't miss the Bogart one.

"The Big Sleep" '78 is not so much a remake of the earlier Howard Hawks favorite as a more faithful reading of the Raymond Chandler novel, albeit transposed by screenwriter / director Michael Winner ("Death Wish") to modern day London. A very appealing Robert Mitchum reprises the role of private eye Philip Marlowe (after his portrayal in "Farewell, My Lovely" in 1975), hired by dying American military man General Sternwood (James Stewart, who makes the most of two brief scenes). The case is a matter of investigating a blackmailer...at least, that would *seem* to be the case. As Marlowe finds out, there's an awful lot going on here, but he handles all of it in great style.

Winner treats this material with quite a bit of humor, rendering it positively silly on a frequent basis. It makes one believe that he had contempt for it. But Chandlers' story is fortunately still engrossing, and it's the kind of thing that really keeps viewers on their toes, trying to pay attention to all the details and twists. (Since there's much exposition to digest, viewers can't afford to let their attention wander.) The film *looks* absolutely great, with fine use of locations and lovely photography. It's spiced up with some (tastefully done) nudity, but it's never ever very violent.

The main draw is a sterling group of American and British actors. Sarah Miles, Richard Boone, Joan Collins, Edward Fox, John Mills, Oliver Reed (typically amusing as a threatening gangster / casino owner), Harry Andrews, Colin Blakely, Richard Todd, Diana Quick, and James Donald are all present and accounted for. Mitchum anchors the proceedings with his colorful performance, but dragging things down quite a bit is the way overdone airhead shtick by Candy Clark, playing Sternwoods' younger daughter. Usually she's pretty reliable, but here she's much too annoying. Mitchum and company do have fun with the sometimes witty and lively dialogue.

Well paced, and fairly energetic, but overall not especially memorable. Some people might want to just revisit the Bogie and Bacall version instead.

Six out of 10.

Having first seen the Humphrey Bogart version first, I think I was quite spoiled. Yes, I've heard that this remake is closer to the book, but I can't shake the fact that I just prefer Bogart over Mitchum. And, being made in glorious black and white (which is perfect for Film Noir), I just couldn't get used to color for the film. Plus, at times, the two stories are nearly word-for-word identical--so watching this film became a real bore. It's a shame but I just couldn't accept this film because of these reasons. Instead, it's a shame the producers didn't just pick an entirely new Raymond Chandler story or that of some other mystery writer. Then, perhaps, I could have enjoyed it more.

You may regard the 1946 version as a classic because of the Bogart-Bacall pairing. As a literary adaptation, this version, however, is much better.

First of all, the plot stays true to the novel, whereas the older version had a plot ruined by the restrictions of the Hayes code, so that it contains numerous loose ends and unexplained developments.

Secondly, Robert Mitchum impersonates Marlowe much better that Humphrey Bogart. Bogart essentially recycles his role of Sam Spade in "The Maltese Falcon". Yet, Spade and Marlowe are very different characters. While Spade is a cynic who just barely remembers the remnants of morality (and Bogart is brilliant in that role), Marlowe is way beyond that point. He walks around people in a distanced, almost detached way. Only when he spots a glimpse of humanity in his fellow men, he is willing to engage himself (as with General Sternwood in "The Big Sleep"). Mitchum plays this character with great understatement, as it should be done, while Bogart makes Marlowe just another hard-boiled detective, which could be replaced by any other one.

Finally, both Sarah Miles and Candy Clark (while not being necessarily great actresses) bring over the lunacy of the Sternwood daughters beautifully. While the scenes between Bacall and Bogart a great, they are out of place in this plot, in which there is no place left for romance. It might have been appropriate for the characters of Marlowe and Linda Loring in "The Long Goodbye", but hardly in a movie adaption of a novel, in which Marlowe remarks "both Sternwood women were giving him hell".

So, while this movie transfers the plot to another time and another place, it is a much better adaption of the novel than the version often regarded as a classic.

***SPOILERS*** Re-made Raymond Chandler film-noir classic that just doesn't have the drama and suspense of the original Bogart/Bacall 1946 film that in some ways was even more confusing then the less effective 1978 remake. We have in this version of "The Big Sleep" Robert Mitchum as the not so usual down on his luck, barley keeping up with paying the rent for his shabby office, private detective Philip Marlow. Marlow drives around in a $50,000.00 car checking the time on his $5,000.00 Rollex watch and wearing clothes personally tailored and cut to size never getting dirty torn or even creased no matter how many beatings he take throughout the movie!

This time around Philip Marlow is working his trade, as a PI, in the green rolling countryside of the 1970's jolly old England not the dark dirty and gritty streets of 1940's L.A. Coming to see his latest client sick and disabled millionaire General Sternwood, James Stewart, Marlow is told that he's being blackmailed by this local bookstore owner Arthur Geiger, John Justin. Geiger has a number of nude photos of General Sternwood's wacky's younger daughter Camilla, Candy Clark, and is threatening to make them public if the General doesn't pay him 10,000 Pound Sterling.

We, and Philip Marlow, see right away that Camilla is a bit off her rocker but what we don't realize is that General Sternwood is really interested in finding her missing husband Rusty Regan, David Seville, whom he seems to have become very found of in his stories about himself and his exploits as an Irish patriot. Besides Camilla there's also the Generals slightly nymphomaniac older daughter Charlotte, Sara Miles, who like the younger Carmilla is always making a play for the much older, and not at all interested, Philip Marlow that's keeping him from doing his job.

Marlow tries to track down Geiger and finds him in his house, with a naked and goofy Carmilla, shot dead between the eyes. It's later found out that the Sternwood family chauffeur Owen Taylor, Martin Potter, killed Geiger in a fit of anger when he found out that he was photographing his secret lover Carmilla in the nude. It's later that Taylor is himself killed and, together with his car, thrown into the nearby river by an associate of Geiger Joe Brody, Edward Fox. Fox murdered Taylor in order to steal Geiger's film that Taylor had on him but at the same time not knowing that Geiger was already dead.

The story leads into a number of different directions that has to do with a local British mobster Eddie Mars, Oliver Reed, and his club-footed and sadistic hit-man known as the Brown Man Lush Canino, Richard Boone, and members of London's sleazy and dangerous Red Light district that includes some of the late Arthur Geiger's gay lovers. All this shenanigans leaves some half dozen corpses behind in it's wake but the real crux of the story goes right back to the missing son-in-law of General Sternwood Rusty Regan.

Philip Marlow sensed right from the beginning that General Sternwood was only interested in Rusty's disappearance not his daughter, and Rusty's wife, Carmilla being blackmailed. Wanting to know for himself as well as his client, General Sternwood, if Rusty is either alive or dead Marlow begins to realizes that only Carmilla can provide that answer. Being mentally unbalanced may very well be the result of what Carmilla knows about Rusty.

Taking a chance Marlow sets Carmilla up, in a scheme that he secretly devised, in order to find out just what she not only knows about her missing husbands whereabouts but also if she had something to do with his disappearance in the first place. Marlow's scheme entrapping Carmilla and finding out about what happened to Rusty Regan sadly pays off and shocking proves what Philip Marlow suspected about Carmilla all along. Now Marlow has to somehow keep her father General Sternwood from finding it out in order not just to keep from breaking his heart but also from causing him to suffer a fatal heart-attack.

Having solved the case of the missing son-in-law for General Sternwood and not even asking or accepting a tip or bonus for doing it, from a grateful Charlotte, Philip Marlow hops in his expensive car and drives as fast as he can out of Sternwood Manor. Marlow in his speedy exit breaks a number of speed limits on the way out as he tries to get his head back together after what he had to go through in solving the case.

This is a big-budget remake of Raymond Chandler's "The Big Sleep", with a cast of well-known veteran actors and set, for some reason, in 1970s Britain instead of 1940s Los Angeles. If you are really interested in seeing "The Big Sleep", do yourself a favor and see Howard Hawk's 1945 version with Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall instead. You will find the plot is extremely convoluted, but at least that movie will keep you awake until the end.

Rating this film is a tough go. As a long-time fan of Chandler's stories, I appreciate and watch every film based upon them. Some are stunning; some are not. This one is in-between.

First a word about Robert Mitchum. Watching him in 'Farewell My Lovely' (1975), I had to conclude that of all the portrayals of Philip Marlowe I have seen (by Humphrey Bogart, James Garner, Dick Powell, James Caan, Elliot Gould, Robert Montgomery, George Montgomery, Powers Boothe and several others), Robert Mitchum stands out as the most realistic Philip Marlowe of them all. Shop-worn, hard-bitten but with a kindly and chivalrous streak within; aging but still very vital and with a solid 'authority'(for want of a better term) in the role, Mitchum made as perfect a Philip Marlowe as has ever graced the screen - in 'Farewell My Lovely'.

Unfortunately, in this film he probably won't impress you in this way but that is not his fault; it's the screenwriter's. Sadly, it was decided, for whatever reason, to transplant the story to England; a transplant that doesn't work very well. The gritty world in which Marlowe lives is not a very good fit for the English countryside and the locales and characters lack the film-noir geist that Chandler's world evokes: the crazy mixture of glitz and sleaze, glamour and grittiness that was post-prohibition Los Angeles.

Nonetheless, this film has a number of redeeming qualities; the acting is quite good, the plot adheres to Chandler's story much more closely than the Bogart/Bacall version and the scenes, cinematography and direction are competent and entertaining.

Watching a film version of this Chandler novel is a genuinely frustrating experience. The plot is incredibly convoluted and sometimes you feel that you are not able to simply enjoy the film because you are too busy listening to the constant dialogue and the endless explanations. But the plot - and the dialogue - is easier to follow in this 1978 version than it was in the 1946 one. The movie even has a theory about the death of the chauffer. As for Mitchum, he is a wiser, more likable hero than Bogart and it isn't too hard to accept him in the role. The supporting roles are mostly good (especially Edward Fox) and the movie is pleasing to the eye. One major disappointment in this version is the seriously miscast Sarah Miles who has Bacall's role and brings absolutely no charm to it. And lines like "She was trying to sit on my lap while I was standing up" feel a little awkward when you've already heard them from Bogart. But I still recommend this slick and watchable movie.

This stinkbomb is currently getting a lot of airplay on the digital cable stations. Don't waste your time with it.

This movie spares ALL expense. It has the look and feel of early 70s-TV crime drama, but with cheaper production values. The clumsy editing is a constant distraction, and removes any possibility of the fast-pace repartee normally expected from Chandler characters.

If you're a fan of Mitchum, Stewart, or Reed, I urge you to pass on this. All three phone it in on the rotary-dial phones of that era. Unfortunately, Clark does not phone it in. Her nude scene is sub-par -even by 1978 standards- and cannot redeem the worst acting ever recorded.

Film adaptations rarely, if ever, do a book justice. In no instance is this more true than in the case of The Big Sleep. The book is fantastic and a relatively short read. In fact, you could get through most of it in the time it would take you to watch either film version.

After years of slowly perverting the hard-boiled 40s purity of Chandler's creation with movies like Marlowe and The Long Goodbye that put Marlowe increasingly at odds with the modern times, the series went back to its 1940s roots in 1974 with Farewell My Lovely and introduced Mitchum as Marlowe, perfectly cast in all of his lantern-jawed, world weariness. So why did the makers of this, its sequel, decide to come back to the present and move the setting from Cal. to England? Chandler's plot, which features such items as drug use and underground pornography, shocked its 1940s readership. Re-located to anything goes, swinging-70s London, none of this stuff seems at all adequate motivation for a murder spree - heck, it would make a tame weekend for David Bowie - and this severely blunts the plot's impact. And if no compelling motivation exists for murder, who cares whodunnit? This is the problem with updating the setting of an older story without proper regard for changing historical context: it can weaken essential story elements that drive the plot. That is what happened here. The script still crackles with remnants of Chandler's tough guy talk and Mitchum is still good as Marlowe, world-weary as all get out, yet willing to pitch in to help a dame, but the rest of it works less well and the lack of a noir visual aesthetic makes it all less interesting to watch, too. London doesn't look gritty, just sooty, and the unsavory thugs floating at the edges of the movie seem less scary than what you would have encountered in a mid- 70s punk rock dive. It's not bad, just lame.

Michael Winner doesn't have the best reputations as a director. It does seem like a crass act to switch Marlowe to London. I think Robert Mitchum has enough presence, humour and dignity to carry the film and it is a deliciously complicated plot. However my interest is in the many minor treats on the journey to the conclusion. Who wouldn't want to see Oliver Reed in his prime, a traditional British actor who was in his prime the day he died. Then there's Joan Collins working on her nails. There are many agreeable old cars, quaint Chelsea aspects and snaps of the Thames. I was reminded of the subversive humour of the Avengers especially with all that background jazz percussion. Some of the camera angles will indicate when the director was interested. I suppose this film is a lot more fun now than it was when it was released.

I thrice went to Michael Winner's Holland Park home for lunch. I wish I could say I remembered more about these visits, but the hospitality was clearly designed to ensure that I didn't! He was a charming and engaging man who had an entertaining anecdote for just about every occasion. For this remake of the 1946 classic, he has certainly assembled a strong cast. Robert Mitchum takes on the private eye "Philip Marlowe" character and the story moves to Britain where his services are sought by the invalid "General Sternwood" (James Stewart) who is concerned that his rather libertine daughters are vulnerable to blackmail. Once such investigation discovers that though blackmail was, indeed, on the table - there is a far more deadly and sinister topic for his talents - the disappearance of the general's son-in-law "Rusty Regan". There are hoodlums, gangsters, petty thieves who are all in his sights as he tries to get to the bottom of whom is doing what to whom - and why! Oliver Reed and Sara Miles (who always looked as if she were treading a very fine line between sanity and madness) contribute quite well to the mix, but Joan Collins and Richard Boone much less so, and the narrative (from Mitchum) is way too wordy. The ending is sort of sprung upon us, and I felt just a bit short-changed by the whole thing. Colour photography can sometimes be a real enemy of noir thrillers. The monochrome style, lighting, shading and a good score frequently does much of the heavy lifting if the story is a bit light. Here, Winner has none of that to fall back on, and what we end up with is really more notable for whom he cast rather than for what we saw.